The Lumpy Mattress 'Verse
by RainbowWhiteFlags
Summary: Greg Lestrade is having a pretty awful day, but a trip to the home of one miss Molly Hooper might be the little ray of light through the clouds. Lestrolly fluff.


Greg was having a frankly terrible day.  
And this was coming from a man who regularly investigated violent crimes. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't exactly sure when it had turned into a horrible day. It might of been when the fact that he'd had sleep on a lumpy old mattress that he'd found in his basement. His wife, or rather, ex-wife, had taken the bed. And the sofa. And pretty well everything of value that they had owned as a couple. It may have started when he had spilled coffee on his only clean shirt. Or the fact that he was 20 minutes late for work due to traffic. And it certainly didn't help when he'd had to listen to Anderson bitching about nothing he particularly cared about. All in all, it added up to probably one of the worst days Greg had had it a while. He stayed late at work, trying to finish up some paperwork on a case, when he found he was missing the autopsy report. He texted Sherlock, asking if he had seen the report, but the unhelpful bastard only responded something about asking someone named Dr Molly Hooper. Muttering a few choice words about the consulting detective, he made his way up to the morgue. He arrived within the minute, and threw open the door with a rather forceful shove. The door smacked on its hinges with a bang, starting the lab coated figured in the middle at the room. She turned, and Greg mentally kicked himself for not recalling the name sooner. He remembered, of course, seeing her at the Christmas party at Baker Street. After all, who could forget that dress? Or that body, to be more specific. He'd worked with her on a few occasions, but never bothered remembering her name. He immediately flushed with embarrassment, partly because of his inability to remember names, mostly because of the Christmas party memory. They had chatted a bit throughout the night, but she hadn't felt much like talking. Greg suspected it had something to do with her being ribbed by an overly bored and there for grumpy Sherlock Holmes earlier in the evening.  
"Um...Hello..." Doctor Hooper said softly, snapping Greg out of the memory. He stood there rigidly for a moment, trying to recall what he was doing in her morgue.  
"Right, I was wondering if you had the autopsy report for the Samuels murder case?" He finally blurted out after a beat of nearly painful silence.  
"I should; hang on, let me take a look." Responded the doctor, who turned and began busying herself with sorting through a stack of reports. Greg stared at her without realising it. He had always thought that she was pretty, but it wasn't until the Christmas party that he had realised how absolutely stunning she was. It was hard to tell, the way she dressed in an oversized lab coat and baggy jumpers.  
"Oh, damn." She said, turning around, "I must have left it at home. I could bring it to you tomorrow..." She started, but Greg was already shaking his head.  
"No, I need it tonight. Is there any way you could..."  
"You could come home with me-" Molly started, but cut herself sort, blushing furiously. "Oh! No, I didn't, I mean, I didn't mean it like that!" She said in a rush. Greg laughed for the first time in what seemed like weeks. It wasn't an unkind laugh, and he added reassuringly,  
"Don't you think we should go out for a drink first, doctor Hooper?" Molly began to laugh along with him. She had a wonderful laugh, Greg discovered. Not a dry, wheezy laugh or one that sounded fake. She had a true laugh, one that made other people feel like laughing as well. She straightened, shifting to a more serious attitude. She was still smiling. "I'll just go grab my coat..."  
"I'll hail us a cab."

The ride to Molly's flat was quiet, but not awkwardly so. On the few occasions in the short drive that they had spoken, she had called him Detective inspector. He had responded by telling her that she could call him Greg, and in turn, she allowed him to call her Molly. Doctor Hooper was too stiff sounding, she had told him, and he understood. He felt the same about being called Detective Inspector Lestrade. When they arrived at her building, Molly lead him up a narrow set of stairs to the third floor, where she opened the door to a quaint little flat. The flat suited her. Its walls were covered by a creamy, rose patterned wallpaper, from which hung several picture frames, which were home to university degrees and photos of a young, pigtailed Molly standing with whom Greg assumed were her parents. Molly dropped her keys on a table beside the door, taking off her coat as she walked comfortably into the flat. Greg followed her, venturing farther from the door, when he felt something warm rub up against his leg.  
"And who's this?" He asked, looking down at the cat curled around his leg.  
"That's Toby," Molly offered, "It looks like he likes you." She smiled at the two of them while Greg bent down to stroke the tabby's fur. Toby purred happily, and Molly had to force herself to tear her gaze away from Greg and Toby.  
"I'll just be right back those files. Would you like a cuppa?" She asked politely.  
"If it's not too much trouble..."  
"Oh no, not at all. Make yourself comfortable." She said as she disappeared into the kitchen. Greg took a seat on the canary yellow sofa. Now, Gregory Lestrade had never, not once in his life, considered himself to be an expert at interior design. However, he was sure that canary yellow sofas generally did not look good with creamy, rose patterned wallpaper. But in a flat owned by Molly Hooper, it just seemed to work.  
A few minutes later, Molly reappeared with a file under one arm and a mug of tea in either hand, only to find Toby curled up in Greg's lap. She smiled affectionately and offered him a mug and then the autopsy report, before sitting down next to him on the sofa. The two sipped their tea in silence for a minute (The autopsy report lay forgotten on the end table beside Greg).  
"So," Greg started, and they began to talk. Not like the awkward small talk like they had exchanged during the Christmas party, but real conversation. At first, they talked simple things. Work, how much of a pain in the arse Sherlock was, and so on. They talked about their interests, and Greg was stunned by how similar Molly and he were in that front. They liked the same music, the same movies, the same television programs, the same books. The later into the night it got, the deeper into the conversation they went, they began telling each other more personal things. Molly told him how her parents had divorced when she was ten years old, how she had lived mostly with her mom. She told him about how she spent the summers with her dad, in his house by the coast. She told him about how she had always loved science, always knew she would pursue a career in that field. She told him about how her last serious relationship was when she was in her final year of uni, how it had ended when her mother died unexpectedly. She told him about her string of unsuccessful relationships afterward. In return, he had told her about how he'd grown up the youngest of four boys. How he was an accident, how the second youngest was twelve years older than he was. He told her about how he had wanted to be a rock star when he was in high school. He told her how he met his wife, sorry, ex-wife, Emily; how his parents had hated her. He told her how they had gotten married right out of high school because Emily had gotten pregnant. He told her about how absolutely terrified they both were when the test had come back positive, but, he added, he had also been a little bit happy. He told her, though he had never told anyone else, how he had been so unexpectedly upset when Emily has miscarried at three months. He told her about how that was part of the reason for his and Emily's divorce. How he had discovered that he actually did want kids. Of course, that wasn't the only reason. They had changed a lot since high school. They just didn't fit anymore. He liked to think it was because he had matured, where Emily never had. She remained the same, wild, rebellious, person he fell in love with. But it had changed. Behaviours like that didn't suit a grown woman. They grew apart. It was at this point that he reflected on how easy it was to talk to Molly about this. His and Emily's story was not one that he often shared. But when he was talking to Molly, the words came so easily, and he had absolutely no trouble telling her everything, down to the last detail. Molly listened, she never looked bored or annoyed; in fact, she loved listening to his talk, the way he told his stories was mesmerising. She wasn't sure exactly when it was, but eventually she realised that she may or may not have fallen a little bit in love with Greg Lestrade. And by the time he had finished telling her his life story, Greg knew he'd fallen for her. It was well past midnight when either of them noticed how late it had gotten, both of them wondering where the time had gone. Greg looked awkwardly at Toby, who was sleeping soundly in his lap. "It's pretty late," He said reluctantly, "I really should get going." Despite what he was saying, he really did not want to leave. Molly nodded, though she too looked rather unhappy at the thought of him leaving. He gently moved the sleeping cat off of his lap. Toby mewed in annoyance, but continued fell back asleep soon after. Gripping the file under one arm, he stood and grabbed his coat. Molly followed him to the door. He took extra time putting his shoes on, trying to postpone his departure from Molly as long as possible. He was dreading going back to his house, knowing that all that awaited him there was cold, bare grey walls and a lumpy mattress. He stood up straight, his back to the door but one hand on the door knob. He took a breath, trying to think of a way to say goodbye to her while his entire body was screaming at him to stay. He meant to say goodbye, he did, but instead of the words coming out of his mouth like he wanted, he bent down and kissed her instead. He was a bit surprised at how she kissed him back almost instantly. It was a sweet, gentle kiss. It only lasted a few seconds before they broke apart, but looking at each other with their eyes a little clearer and their cheeks flushed pink. It was Molly who started the kiss the second time, only a heartbeat after they had parted from the first. Her lips crashed against his, and his met her almost instantly with more intensity than she had expected. Her fingers knotted in his silver hair, and Greg let his hand fall off of the door knob and slip around her waist. His free hand cupped her cheek. When they broke apart again, it was more the need of air than anything else. Their noses remained touching, his head stooped and while she stood on her toes. Greg laughed breathlessly, combing his fingers through his ruffled hair. He felt like a reckless college student. He moved his hand from her waist, but his fingers unintentionally catching at the hem of her jumper, pulling it up slightly. Molly placed her hand over his; giggling at the way he blushed, and responded, "Don't you think we should go out for a drink first?"


End file.
